


Becoming

by CertifiedPissWizard



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU, F/M, Some of that decadent imagery, Spiral Avatar Jonathan Sims, and also, canon typical jon hating himself at the beginning, he gets better tho, i had fun writing this ok, i will fill the jonhelen tag w my two little hands if i must, like look, some of that nonexplicit horny, some of that yearning, some of that yellow wallpaper references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertifiedPissWizard/pseuds/CertifiedPissWizard
Summary: There is someone behind the wallpaper, trapped beneath its putrid patterns. Her name, she says, she thinks it was Helen. Names don't mean much here.The beings once known as Jon and Helen Become.
Relationships: Helen/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	Becoming

Michael didn't come to rescue him, Jon thinks as he takes Michael's hand, steps into the corridors where Michael said that he'll die. He remembers how Tim looks at him, Melanie's anger, Martin's misplaced devotion, Basira being trapped. The world, he thinks, stepping through the doorway, being braced by Michael since his legs are still shaking, will be down another monster. This is for the good of everyo- The door is closed, and Jon is so terribly alone. The halls stretch on and on covered in shifting, sickly yellows and mirrors and there are splits in the corridor but all the turns go left and Jon is alone and is walking and walking and there are just the corridors and walls and carpet and his name is Jon and he is? was? is? the head archivist for the Magnus Institute and the Archivist and he will not lose himself. He won't. His name is Jon, and he is lost in an unending labyrinth. He knows there's a way out, that he could get out, but there's a part that says he needs to stay and he isn't sure why. He is so alone, and he is so lost. 

Then he is not so alone. There is someone behind the wallpaper, trapped beneath its putrid patterns. Her name, she says, she thinks it was Helen. Names don't mean much here. She was so alone. They walk together, and he sees her in the mirrors. She waves at him. He waves back. His smile feels wrong, but it's his face so it can't possibly be wrong. It didn't used to twist that much when he smiled, curling inwards forever. Faces don't change like that. He says that, and Helen laughs. She is, has, will be experiencing the same thing. She thinks that it's funny, how he still keeps trying to make sense of things here. Someone has to, he says without making a sound, and it's not like it'll be you. You seem like a perfect fit. "Oh, Jon." He isn't sure whether it's pitying or fond or both or neither, but he does know he doesn't like being on a different side of the wallpaper from her. You can't step through wallpaper, stretch the patterns apart and slide in. That's why Jon stretches the patterns apart and pulls Helen out. 

They slide their hands together, grasp on. Nothing here is real. They are the only real things here. These statements are not contradictory. The halls are long and endless and they are so not alone. They talk and do not talk and they are Jon and Helen. 

There is a room they stumble upon. There are no rooms in the corridors. There is something in the middle of the room. There is also a door at the entryway of it. Helen closes the door, and then Jon kisses her, soft and slow and sweet and maddening. He runs his fingers through her hair, achingly gentle. She laughs, kisses back. There are only two real things in the whole world- Jon and Helen, trapped in each other's orbit in a room with something strange in the middle of it. It doesn't matter, though. What matters, Jon thinks, is how Helen looks like she is several trillion twisting infinities, all whispering his name. He kisses her again and again and again and- He enjoys knowing that he did this to her, unraveled her, kissed her until she was as dizzy as the corridors tried to make him feel every single second. He kisses her again and again and again and she looks so beautiful all the time, but like this? She is unearthly non-Euclidean shapes twisting in and around, and he does not understand. It's wonderful. "Stunning." It's impossible to tell who said that, or if the words were even said at all.

She keeps trying to kiss him back on the lips when he kisses her, but she doesn't have a mouth anymore. The sounds she makes just are, with no discernible source. She whispers different words, nonsensical words, and they all sound like a prayer for more. Jon obliges. She falls into strips and strands and streamers that wrap around Jon, holding him closely, tightly. "Jon," her voice whispers in his ear. Then she is there again. Not real, of course, but solid. 

There is something in the middle of the room. After a while of resting, Jon and Helen stand, and walk to the object. It looks like no heart that could ever be described, and yet- it is the heart of the tunnels. Helen is the one who reaches out, tears it in two. She takes one half, holds it to Jon who lets it pass his lips. Juice or blood or water or something spills out his lips, just as it spills out Helen's lips when she swallows her half. It drips down their chins, twanging flavors, sweet and floral and unrecognizable. She reaches out, cups his cheeks, they lean in, kiss, let the flavors in their mouths mix and intertwine. Jon and Helen Become.

It is not as painful as one would expect, Becoming, and yet it is even more painful than could possibly be imagined. They lengthen and shorten and words that do not exist and never have and never will become the only things that could possibly describe them. They both laugh, and the laughter is just as intermingled as they are in this moment- two halves of a whole. "Distortion," the being once called Helen smiles.

"Distortion," the being once called Jon replies. They lean in to the other, impossibly closer now, two halves of the same being. 

There is a door, and hands with impossibly long and twisting fingers intertwined, they step through.


End file.
